Around this period a year ago, I ended up on a TV programme with three singers. There was a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a well-known pop singer, and a famous mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. The previous evening, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in the Surrey region. It was an enjoyable evening, however at that moment, simply to make conversation, I pondered how one could prevent getting a cold when half the people at the party were part of an orchestra of winter ailments. By the way, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, and others don’t? A topic for future discussion.
Their Take of the Singers
When I brought up my evening, this trio of troubadours in the waiting area took two actions. Firstly, they moved back a bit. Secondly, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion about preventing colds which naturally enough given their line of work was something of an obsession for them. I understand that, yet I'm personally involved – I need to dodge colds no matter what because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. I don’t have a medical certificate to confirm this, yet I'm certain it's factual. My colds last longer. I experience worse nasal blockage, I have a more irritated throat, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises indicating trouble ahead, either kick me out of the room or clear the room themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery grew attuned to the warning signs. “Cans off!” the producer would yell to his team to avoid auditory overload, overloading their audio gear.
Managing Stuffy Noses
When it comes to congestion, don't get me started. Nasal sprays, decongestants, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mother recommends … they all work for a while before admitting defeat. And there’s nothing as pitiable as the sound of a Birmingham accent uttered with blocked nasal passages. I mean, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, though that's not necessarily beneficial. In my first year away at university, separated from family care, the janitor in our dorm felt sorry for me. “I know exactly what you need, you unfortunate soul. Be right back.” She was wonderfully sweet, very Irish, and very insistent that I ate the uncooked, peeled onion she brought to my sickbed. She monitored my consumption. Goodness gracious. No improvement resulted, sadly, except for upsetting my stomach and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I hate colds and firmly believe avoiding is superior to treating which onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I paid close attention then alongside my colleagues as the singer detailed her prevention methods. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she approached it with great diligence. She instructed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour all winter long based on her explanation in addition, specific measures were necessary when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she recommended a couple of blasts of a preventive product into both nostrils – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Drastic. I like it. And, listen to this, she insisted on following it up after the party with another couple of squirts of the same stuff.
My Experience
I followed suit. And I can report I didn't sniffle all winter. There were drawbacks: the many containers I acquired, mislaid, reacquired, rediscovered, and so on. And the disappointing instant finding you've squashed the gel bottle kept in your jeans and it's leaking all over. Still, an acceptable trade-off. As the cold season approaches once more, I'm fully prepared with the singer's suggested supplies. I’m ready for battle.
